


A Mark of Dignity

by tubofskippy



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Abusive Parent, Alcohol, Assault, Biting, Body Image, Forced masculinity, Insecurity, Kisses, M/M, Other, Self-Worth Issues, Superficiality, Suppressed Feelings, reputation, societal pressure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tubofskippy/pseuds/tubofskippy
Summary: There's a lot beneath the surface. Sometimes you just have to sink your teeth into it.





	A Mark of Dignity

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! It's here! The most intricate bite mark backstory you'll probably ever read! When I initially started writing, I meant for this to be a story about body positivity. Lefou is insecure, Gaston helps him realize that he's perfect. Aw, nice.  
> BUT  
> About halfway through, it changed completely. I kind of strayed from the idea of body positivity, and I apologize for that (which is why I'm gonna hit y'all with a super fluffy Stanfou fic next that is nothing BUT body posi). I stuck with the canon Gaston personality which I don't really ship Lefou with (because, let's face it, canon Gaston is a rotten egg), so just a heads up - this fic isn't exactly pro Gafou. Throughout the summer, the story evolved into one that centers around image, self worth, and acceptance in a pressuring society. It's a lot deeper, a lot darker, and a lot more angsty, but all the while more meaningful.  
> Enjoy.

Dusk again. Another day’s hard work was coming to an end, and the entire population of Villeneuve was divided into two places. Those with families resided in their homes having a quiet dinner by the fire, and those without spouses who had nowhere better to go flocked together in the tavern to be noisy amongst good company. 

Gaston and Lefou were of the latter bunch.

They had reached the tavern before nightfall. Lefou watched with snide as his strapping companion demounted his 6-foot horse with ease. A beast the size of his ego. Perfect for a brute like Gaston. 

"You coming?" He asked, whisking his head around to display his raven locks.

"Hm? Yeah, you go on inside, I'll catch up with you. Just gotta... park the animal," Lefou replied, unsmoothly. He waited for the tavern door to close behind Gaston before beginning the routine process he dreaded: getting down from the horse. 

Too often Lefou found himself in this situation. Awkward shimmying, ungainly legs flailing about, sticking inelegant landings. It was only times like this when he wished he were taller. After the uneasy dismountal, Lefou quickly fixed his hair and slipped into the tavern. Unsurprisingly, Gaston had already ordered a round of beers. _What a sight it was_. The whole place was bellowing with clinks and throaty laughs. 

"Excusez moi." Lefou squeezed his way through the crowd of rowdy men and took a seat at the bar beside Gaston. The laughter died down ever so slightly as their gazed shifted to the stout man at his disposal.

"Ah, there you are, Lefou. Just in time!"

"What for?"

"Tom thinks he’s stronger than me," Gaston snorted, shoving a mug into Lefou's hands. A smirk became plastered onto Lefou's face. Any time someone challenged Gaston's masculinity, he did something boneheaded-- but wildly captivating. "Time to watch me prove the sap wrong." The two shared a look, already knowing what the outcome of the match would be.

"Then by all means," Lefou said, removing his jacket for him, "sic 'em."

Rolling up his sleeves, Gaston approached the table as if he were marching into battle again.

"You can break Tom, just please––don't break the table!" Lefou playfully shouted after him, inhabiting his spot at the bar and taking a drink.

After Lefou set his mug down, he noticed that the bimbettes had moved in next to him to witness the action for the same reason he had. Irritated, he migrated from his stool and sat himself atop of the bar to get a better view. But that didn't stop him from overhearing their conversation.

"Why is it that monsieur Gaston is always hanging around that guy?" Claudette--or at least Lefou thought it was Claudette, they all sounded the same--whispered sharply. 

"I know! Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen him without his laggard by his side!" Another "ette" replied. The statement was certainly reassuring to Lefou, but he knew very well that they meant it offensively. He tried ignoring them and focusing on the brawl, but the good part hadn't started yet; only the usual pregame trash talk and spitting.

"What is his role, anyway?" Paulette asked, not even trying to keep him from hearing her.

"What do you mean?"

"He can't fight. He can't read. He definitely can't hunt--he can barely hold a gun!"

“I thought he and Gaston were good friends?”

“Good friends? Tsk. Have you seen the way Gaston treats him?”

They had Lefou's undivided attention now.

"I heard Dick once refer to him as his accessory," Colette added, shamelessly. 

"An accessory? No... that word might describe a beautiful girl hanging off of his arm, but--" 

"I sure'd like to be Gaston's accessory," Claudette interjected, gazing at him from across the room.

"Besides, Lefou is..." Paulette looked him up and down while Lefou tried not to make eye contact. _"Well, he's not a very attractive man, is he?"_ Her words felt like a blow to the stomach. Is that how people really thought of him? How Gaston thought of him? More attentive than ever, Lefou self consciously adjusted his bow, for it suddenly felt like it was tightening around his neck. "Just look at him! I mean, he and Gaston are complete opposites,” she continued. “Gaston is **manly**. He’s tall, and handsome." Her voice melted when she arrived at the word. Lefou crossed his legs, covering up the fact that they weren't long enough to reach the floor, but found the action slightly difficult with fuller thighs in the way.

"And BUILT," Colette interjected, as the four of them watched Gaston leap onto Tom and commence the battle. "That jawline..." Lefou's fingers began to wander across the soft skin carpeting his chin. "Those biceps..." As Gaston pinned Tom down on the table, Lefou flexed his arms in comparison. They were more downy than they were brawny. After Tom had surrendered, Gaston lifted up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. "And that SIX PACK!" The women squealed in awe of him. Normally, Lefou would have done the same, but he only sighed, comparing himself to the muscular champion who stood before him. By then, Lefou had come to terms that he could never amount to the pure paragon he followed around so blindly.

"Girls, it’s obvious," Claudette giggled. "Monsieur Gaston keeps Lefou around to make him look good!"  
And with that, Lefou chugged the rest of his drink, slammed the mug onto the table, and trudged through the crowd, headed for the exit. It was utterly mortifying. He needed some time alone to think.

Gaston victoriously leapt onto the table with his arms held high as the scuffed up Tom scurried over to the sidelines, tail between his legs. 

"Who else thinks they can take on Gaston?" He roared, ready to strip another man clean of his pride. Members of the audience began slipping cash to one another. Many of them had wagered on who would win the fight.

"I bet you Solomon could!" Dick shouted from the crowd, pushing his friend forward as a joke. Solomon was new to town, but looked about Gaston's size and strength. The crowd took it seriously, and started shouting their oppositional opinions on who could win and why. Gaston stomped his foot on the table he was perched on to grab their attention. 

"Tell you what. I'm in a disarming mood. Throw me a fighter that'll be fun to tussle with and I'll give whoever bet on me their money’s worth!" It was clear that he had had a bit to drink, but that just made things more interesting for the audience. "Give me a challenge, for god's sake! Something entertaining!" The voices of the crowd rose up again, drafting names into the match and pushing one another closer to the table. One title seemed to rise above the rest.

 

"What about Lefou?" 

 

Lefou froze at the sound of his name.

 

It was Stanley who had called it. 

 

The tavern became noiseless for a few moments, as Gaston's eyes sought him out in the crowd like a spotlight. Everyone in the room turned their heads to the stout man creeping towards the door, frozen in his tracks.

 

"Me? _No..._ " 

 

Knowing that it would be an entertaining fight, the crowd cheered his name, desperate to see Gaston up against his ever-so-loyal companion. 

"Come on, Lefou." Gaston smiled at him. "Give ‘em a show!" 

No. He couldn't humiliate himself further. Just minutes ago, he discovered that he was thought of as the most pathetic man in the village, and this would only make his image worse.

"Gaston, I couldn't possibly--" 

"Get up here!" Gaston motioned to his platform, the table that was treated as a rink. Lefou shook his head vigorously, but he knew he had no choice. Members of the audience ushered him forwards. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the bimbettes, giggling and waving smugly at him as the crowd whisked him away. He could tell they were going to get a kick out of this. So would he, of sorts. Lefou knew Gaston wasn’t going to really harm him, but it wasn’t his body he was worried about. Well… yes it was, but a beating to his self esteem did far more damage than it did physically. As Lefou clung onto his last shred of resistance, he heard the crowd shouting his name.

“LEFOU! LEFOU! LEFOU!” It felt good for a moment, until the fact that this encouragement was solely for their own entertainment sank in. They couldn’t wait to see Gaston use Lefou as his own punching bag. Leader versus lackey. Buff versus… well, buffet. 

Lefou couldn’t waste his energy fighting the horde. Apprehensively, he gave in and allowed himself to be hoisted onto the podium. ...Podium? It was a table for god’s sakes!  
Lefou stood across from Gaston on the platform, glaring up at him with his head lowered. The crowd cheered. Lefou took advantage of the mass’s attention and ripped off his noose of a bow, then threw it into the audience. Stanley caught it, smirking at what he had summoned. He wanted to see Lefou in action, test his skills. Of course, he was also hoping that the fight would play a part in separating he and Gaston.

The two got into position and leaned against each other, both hands pressing on the other's shoulders. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Lefou murmured. Gaston lowered his head so that his was face right beside him. His sportive smile was intimidating, yet oddly comforting. Lefou blocked out the white noise of the crowd and focused on Gaston’s heavy breathing left over from the last brawl, trying to take the moment in while it lasted. It had been a while since he was this close to Gaston.

"Hey... I don't bite," he cooed gruffly in Lefou's ear. His toothy grin caught the candlelight as Lefou held his breath. With a glint in his eye, Gaston tightened his grip. "...When I'm sober."

 

"FIGHT!"

 

Right away, Gaston pounced onto Lefou. Recognizing that this was always Gaston’s first move, Lefou lunged forward as well. Gaston’s strength and Lefou’s force cancelled each other out, and the men fell sideways onto the table like two bucks with their racks locked. The audience went wild. They had never seen either of them take aggression towards one another, especially not Lefou. The outcome of the fight was predictable, but they found the complete contrast in build and skillset humourus. Already winded, Lefou scrambled to get out of his way before he-- _oof_. Got a hold of him. Everyone knew that there were no rules in a fight with Gaston. Lefou quickly pinched him under the arm to postpone further damage and made a break for it. He managed to crawl to the edge of the table before Gaston dragged him back into the rink by the feet. Ending the scuffle quickly, Lefou made the mistake of flipping belly up where Gaston could pin him to the table by the shoulders. It was an easy win. The tavern echoed with laughter as the two laid there, breathing heavily. Lefou’s heart was racing a mile a minute. He was tired, yes, but he also had an intimidating specimen lying right on top of him. Gaston's laugh chimed into the mix as he helped weary Lefou onto his feet.

“That was easily the shortest fight I've ever seen!” Tom wheezed, not feeling so bad about his own loss in comparison. 

“And the shortest fighter!” Dick added. Lefou didn't appreciate the joke. Proudly humming to himself, Gaston lept ahead and escorted Lefou down from the table. Lefou stumbled towards the bar, still trying to catch his breath. Gaston took a seat next to him, waiting for the crowd to cool off from their drunken amusement. Lefou had never felt so humiliated. He had no words. He didn't need them. The flush of red he wore on his face spoke for him. It could have been caused by a number of things, and he wasn't sure which was less flattering; exhaustion, attraction, or embarrassment.

To make matters worse, Gaston began to poke fun at him. 

“What's happened to you, old friend?” Before Lefou could muster up a ‘what do you mean,’ Gaston was onto his next impertinent sentence. “This sort of thing was never your strong suit, I'll admit, but you weren’t always this yielding.” Lefou shrugged, trying to take shallower breaths.

“I—”

“You have put on a few pounds since the war,” Gaston leered, prodding at his side. Lefou laughed uncomfortably, wishing the conversation would end.

“Yeah–well, y’know, once they took me off rations…” He got a laugh out of the group. At least he could hide behind his humor.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” Gaston asked brusquely, checking Lefou all over. Flustered, he quickly freed his arm from Gaston’s grasp and slid a foot away from him.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he bleated, making the statement sound less believable. “That was… fun.” Also untrue. Sure, Lefou had a few scrapes, and so did Gaston. It was nothing so bad. But Lefou’s feelings were hurt more than anything. In comparison to Gaston, he felt belittled. Incompetent. Pathetic. Soft. He’d caught the Bimbettes laughing at him and making snide comments from across the room earlier. Paranoia that everyone in the bar thought of him as Gaston’s unfit laggard began to seep into his head. 

“Lefou,” Gaston’s words brought him back into reality. Not that reality was any better. “Are you sure you're ok?”

“What? Oh sure, I'm great.”

“Well then, can I buy you dinner? It's the least I could do after a loss like that,” Gaston laughed, thinking that it was the right gesture. 

“Not hungry.”

“That’s new.”

Lefou seethed in his seat as the others held back their snickering. Struggling to keep his composure, Lefou stood up and pushed in his chair.

“In fact, I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Lefou, it’s only eight o’clock,” Gaston retorted, miffed.

He hung his head, feeling the guilt of a spoilsport.

“Hey, that’s perfectly reasonable, Lefou,” Tom added in his defense. “Smart thinker, this one.” The group was puzzled as to what he was getting at. Tom shrugged. “If he wants to get out of here by ten at the least, he’ll need to start climbing onto his horse right away,” he sneered, taking a swig of booze as another wave of laughter washed over the group. Gaston slammed a fist onto the table in hysterics.

“Oh, don’t take it to heart, Lefou,” he wheezed, trying to ease his friend’s nerves. He threw his arm around the empty space beside him. “Lefou?” Gaston searched the room for his faithful companion, but Lefou was already out the door. 

 

• • • 

 

Later that night, Lefou stood in front of the mirror, staring intensely. He hadn’t ever looked at himself before. Really looked. His mind was too preoccupied with Gaston’s achievements and Gaston’s figure that he hadn’t taken the time to think about his own. His eyes scanned over the reflection, seeking out every flaw. The bimbettes’ words ran through his mind on repeat. _“ **Manly**. Tall… handsome… built… **opposite**.”_ After a while, he shook the thoughts from his head, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Once it was removed, he grabbed a nightshirt off of his bed to change into. But when he caught a glimpse of bare skin in the mirror, he had to stop again. 

Jesus. He had put on weight since the war. Not that he didn’t already know it… A change like that wasn’t far from obvious. Gaston just hadn’t ever mentioned it to him until now. It hadn't been a problem until now. With a diffident hand, he grabbed at his sizeable belly, wondering if Gaston found it ailing and unsightly like the girls did. He ran a finger over a lattice of stretch marks, feeling their sleek surface in comparison to the unblemished skin. The sight of them pained him, as did the beginnings of some bruising he bore from the fight. Although... he could hardly call it a fight. Lefou replayed the memory over and over in his mind, wallowing in shame, listening to every titter of ridicule, seeing every belittling glare, feeling the hurt of Gaston’s contrasting brawn pin him to the table like a knife driving through a piece of meat. 

How was it that a man with nothing going for him but grappling skills, muscularity, and a toothy smile could acquire so much power? And why would he himself worship a man like that? Lefou sighed to himself. That wasn’t his Gaston. The townspeople didn’t know Gaston like he did. There was something inside him that Lefou had fallen in love with long ago. Something genuine, something sincere. Something that Gaston had been straying from day to day since the war. But the village praised him for it. Whoever he was. 

The townspeople didn’t know Lefou for Lefou, either. They had both changed, according to the village’s standards. It seemed as though image was the most salient quality to those who spent their nights inside the Tavern. Nobody really got to know Lefou past his surface. Nobody really wanted to. He was conventionally unattractive and a bit outwardly queer, therefore repelling to superficials. What would it take to be as appreciated and well-respected as Gaston? Increased masculinity? Weight loss? Craft in gunmanship? Lefou sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest, imitating Gaston and the other men, but soon returned to his original state when he found it too hard to breathe. And what would it take to win Gaston’s appreciation and respect? His mind drew a blank. If he didn’t have his respect already, why did Gaston waste his time hanging around a pigeon like Lefou? He grumbled, pumping cold water into the sink to distract himself. Lefou pulled out the ribbon in his hair, cupped his hands, and leaned over the bin. As soon as the water hit his face, Claudette’s words struck him like ice.

 

_"Monsieur Gaston keeps Lefou around to make him look good!"_

 

_Oh_. Lefou wasn’t just dispirited anymore - he was _angry._

 

Unexpectedly, the familiar rhythm of a leaden fist pounded at his door. 

“Lefou, I know you’re in there!” The door swung open as Lefou heard the imposing boots plod through the entryway. Taken by surprise, he hurriedly pulled his nightshirt over his head. 

“Gaston, what are you doing here?” Lefou croaked, wanting nothing more than to hide. He wished he had thrown on a coat or a vest at the very least. His old nightshirt didn't fit him like it used to, now showing off every curve. He felt vulnerable. Gaston took a step forward, clearing his throat. His eyes cornered Lefou like how they had during the match. But it wasn’t for show. This time, it was personal.

“You uh, you left this at the Tavern,” Gaston said, holding out Lefou’s bow in his hand. Lefou took it and set it on the table.

“Oh. Thanks.” He was hoping Gaston would leave him alone, but because he wasn’t moving yet, Lefou had a feeling that the bow wasn’t the real reason Gaston had come. 

“Look,” Gaston blurted, proving Lefou’s suspicion to be true, “I know things got sort of heated back there, but did you really have to get up and leave?” Gaston huffed and crossed his arms. And Lefou was the drama queen.

“What, like you couldn’t have dealt without me?” Lefou snorted, wondering if Gaston’s boost of masculinity was drained without the comparison of an ample lackey.

“Seems to me you’re a sore loser,” Gaston said, out of nowhere. Coincidentally, Lefou rubbed his back. He really was sore. 

“To be frank, it wasn’t a fair fight,” Lefou sighed, gesturing to his ungainly figure.

“Oh, lighten up,” Gaston said, another coincidence as Lefou rested a hand on his stomach. “We were just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”

“Fun? You call dragging your buddy–who hasn’t done you anything but favors, mind you– into a fight against his own free will and then mopping the floors with him… **fun?** ” Gaston shrugged, thinking it was no big deal.

“Why are you so upset? You told me you weren’t harmed!” 

“No Gaston, I’m not harmed. Has it occurred to you that I could still be hurt?” Lefou said, waiting for a response. With a heavy sigh, Gaston removed his coat and put it on the hanger, realizing now that their conversation would last longer than just a few minutes. 

“I did hear most of the Tavern laughing at you,” he said, carefully trying to get to the source of Lefou’s distress. 

“Oh, over your own laughter?” Lefou chirped irritably, tapping his foot. Gaston exhaled abruptly, dismissing the question with a quick and stilted smile. 

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he admitted, “but what I don’t understand is that you’ve been the butt of a joke many times before. And had no problem with it. In fact, sometimes you even try to be. I assumed this would’ve been the same.” Lefou clenched the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with an explanation without being completely straightforward. 

“Gaston, I know I may not be the smartest guy in the room–well, perhaps in this case I could be–but comedy is how I get people to actually pay attention to me. So yes, I may sacrifice a piece of my dignity for the sake of a laugh, so that maybe I will have someone’s approval. Because I don’t have much else to offer. But tonight, it wasn’t about whether people found me funny, or witty. It was about two men of opposing builds, one of which getting his fat ass kicked by the most brawny and handsome man in the whole village. Hilarious.” Gaston took a moment to register the words Lefou had just spit at him, his ego so paramount that he couldn’t see past the fact that Lefou had just called him handsome. 

“The whole village, eh?” Gaston grinned.

“You’re a self-centered bastard, you know that?” Lefou shot back. His patience was wearing thin.

“Hey––” Before Gaston could finish his sentence, Lefou mimicked the words Gaston had said to him earlier that night.

_“What’s happened to you, old friend?”_ Gaston blinked a few times. The conflict was heightening too fast for him to follow. But those familiar words made him freeze. “This sort of thing was never your strong suit, I'll admit, but you weren’t always this blind.” Gaston smirked remorsefully, recognizing the lines as Lefou persisted. “Your ego has grown since the war,” he uttered, poking Gaston on the forehead. 

“I get it, I get it.”

“I don’t think you _do_ get it,” he began, now pacing the floor. “I have been right by your side ever since. And every day I’ve done you a favor, or given you a compliment, you have gotten a little more full of yourself.”

“Well, you’ve gotten a little fuller yourself!” Gaston interjected, trying to get a rise out of him. Lefou bashfully tugged at the bottom of his nightshirt, and Gaston made a note of it. But he continued on. 

“I practically threw myself at your feet. And never once did you do anything in return. I looked up to you, I made sure you were well, I lov––I cared for you. And you just walked all over me.” Lefou’s voice was quiet, but harsh. Gaston stepped closer to him, but was at a loss for words. Lefou looked him in the eye, his anger increasing with every second Gaston’s face was in view. “I’m beneath you. Why? You can’t see past your own selfdom. You are so glowing of self pride that it blinds you. _You_ , Monsieur Gaston, the pure paragon with broad enough shoulders and just enough brute strength to carry his massive head.” Gaston was too offended to take Lefou’s message into account. He furrowed his brows, inhaling slowly.

 

_“At least I love myself.”_

 

The sentence winded Lefou, a blow of words that drove into his chest like a bullet, ripping through his composure, pinpointing his biggest insecurity. He ran a thumb across white knuckles, rage bellowing up inside of him. So far, Lefou had taken everything with gritted teeth. The jokes, the insults, even a pounding from the man whom he used to admire. He had been holding in his temper that day since the moment he got off of the damn horse. Thoughts and instability built up until he felt as if he were about to burst. Earlier, Gaston had prodded at him quite literally, but tonight, he had just pushed the wrong button. Lefou was sick of himself. Tired of the cheap shots, fed up with Gaston’s ignorance and insensitivity. The whole night had been a string of humiliating calamities, but this was the final shot.  
Lefou was ready for a rematch. 

_“GAHH!”_

Without warning, he threw himself at Gaston, clawing at his perfect physique, nailing him to the hardwood floor. He wished it could have been a table, held up for the world to see. Gaston was stunned for a moment, the blow knocking the wind out of him. The last thing he expected was for Lefou to attack him. Lefou persisted before Gaston could fight back, his adrenaline and anger fueling his fists. “You son of a-- _uhh!_ ” Gaston took a crack at him, just to get him off of his chest. But Lefou kept swinging, along with shouting between moves. “I know what you’re doing!”

“What?” Gaston shouted back, still trying to refrain the stocky man from manslaughter on the living room floor. 

“You’re using me, aren’t you?” He barked, with a fist full of Gaston’s silky hair. 

“ _Ack!_ –– Using you?” Gaston lifted his knee and pressed it into Lefou’s ribcage, trying to pry him off of himself. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about–– _ugh!_ ––I mean, look at me! I’m practically dough in your hands!” Gaston snorted at this, because although still struggling to free himself from Lefou’s spurts of aggression, his hands were placed on Lefou’s hips. “A strapping guy like yourself?–– _Hhng!_ ––Why else would he hang around a pathetic, unsightly— _ah!_ —out of shape—fool like me?” 

By that time, Gaston had an idea of what this all was really about. With a surge of energy, he latched onto Lefou’s sides, and forcefully rolled over so that Lefou’s back was planted on the rug in front of the fireplace, pinned down once again, this time by the wrists. For a moment, there was no sound, no movement other than the cracking and rising of flames, and the hot, ragged breaths that accompanied the pumping of chests. Lefou’s undersized shirt rode up on him, revealing his underbelly. He felt as vulnerable as ever - his biggest insecurities had just been exposed, now in actuality. He wanted to pull down the fabric that wouldn’t do much to hide it anyway, a soft, built-in mound of imperfection that rose and fell with each timid breath. He wanted to escape Gaston’s firm grasp, escape the situation, cover his gaping wound of diffidence which he had just opened up and couldn’t ever close again. But Gaston held him tightly in place, his backside imprinting into the rug like a crater in a forest, making it hard to tell his loose dark hair apart from bearskin - a bear that Gaston had shot, now sprawled out and pinned to the floor, its situation all too familiar. Gaston was the hunter, and Lefou had lost. Again. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Gaston would always be on top. 

Lefou relaxed his muscles, letting the fur enclose on his limp body. His face glistened with sweat. The fire was certainly a contributor to perspiration among the perils of a vigorous fight. Gaston was now enlightened of what Lefou was so upset about. He wanted just one more reaction to prove it, and was still offended that Lefou had tried to assault him. The two men stayed there for a few seconds, both equally enraged for different reasons, breathing heavily at each other’s throats. 

“I wasn't expecting to see this much of you when I walked in,” Gaston huffed, eying Lefou’s uncovered belly. Offended and cornered, Lefou squirmed under his embrace; Gaston’s final piece of evidence. 

_**“Bite me,”**_ he snapped. But Gaston seemed to take the expression quite literally. 

He aimed for the liver. Lefou winced in pain when he felt the set of sharp teeth sink into his exposed abdomen. He inhaled sharply and bent his knees, shocked and petrified. He tried to shout at him, _“Agh! Gaston! Wh—”_ but suddenly felt tongue press against skin. He grimaced in pain and utter confusion, until Gaston unclenched his jaws, proffering sweet relief. But Gaston did not move from his spot. “ _Jesus_ , what the hell do you think y—” Much to Lefou’s surprise, the bite turned into something very unexpected. Slow, gentle, sopping kisses, planted up and down Lefou’s belly, causing his sensile stomach muscles to tense and his heartbeat to flutter. Lefou’s breathing hitched as Gaston buried his lips in the soft and pliable flesh, his hands sliding from Lefou's shoulders down to his waist. Lefou dug his fingers into the rug and held on tightly. One moment they were fighting, and then suddenly, _this?_ Lefou was unsure of what to make of the sensation; whether he was abashed or flattered, whether he hated it or enjoyed it, and whether or not he wanted it to stop. But he was far too shocked to come to any conclusions, let alone speak. Gaston carried on, kissing the thing Lefou was most self conscious about fervently, his hands placed on two love handles. Amidst all of the questions and worries, there were three things that emerged in Lefou’s mind.

_This was not something a man did after winning a fight._  
This was not an act of masculinity.  
This was **not** platonic.

Then again, there had always been something unspoken between the two of them. Lefou had developed feelings for him during the war; the rugged captain who pulled his own weight along with everyone else's. The man who fought to protect. Lefou had always wondered if Gaston had similar feelings towards him, judging by the way he had treated him. How they always looked out for each other. There was something genuine about him that Lefou was remembering less and less every day. But Lefou’s suspicions of Gaston’s reciprocated feelings had faded since Gaston had become obsessed with himself and with chasing women. The only weight he pulled was his own, coincidentally when his partner’s had increased. Nowadays, Gaston fought for no reason other than to protect his facade. 

But this sudden outburst of affection was causing Lefou to have second thoughts. He propped himself up with two elbows, finally gaining the courage to speak.

“What _are you **doing**?_ ” 

Gaston looked up from his catch after realizing he was getting carried away. He paused, looking at Lefou’s face, which was twisted in utter bewilderment. 

“Making a point,” he said, unironically running his tongue across his sharp incisors. 

“I beg your pardon?” Lefou blinked a few times, baffled at his reasoning. As Gaston lifted himself off of him to kneel, Lefou took a handful of fabric and wiped off his belly. His skin stung around the area Gaston had bitten him; a sweet, intoxicating pain, reminding him that this wasn't a dream. 

 

“You're a fool if you think you're unsightly.” 

 

“You're _drunk._ ” Lefou’s face held the same expression. Alcohol was the only explanation to Gaston’s wild behavior that Lefou could think of, and he didn't want to deal with the situation any longer.

“Just because a man isn't thinking straight doesn’t mean he’s drunk,” Gaston retorted, causing Lefou to grunt. He assumed that the pun was intended.

“I-I-I can’t _believe_ you!”

“I can’t believe _you!_ ”

“Me? You just **_bit_** me on the goddam _stomach_ , how do you expect me to re––”

“That was not unprompted. _You_ attacked _me_.”

“I had a good reason!” Lefou shouted. “But then you… you…” he stared at Gaston’s lips, unable to bring himself to speak of what had just taken place. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” Gaston hung his head in embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what got into me. I’m sorry.” Lefou felt equally embarrassed. He frowned and held his arms close to his body, with an expression on his face that demanded an explanation. Gaston sighed before he made his shortened confession. “I just don’t want you to feel… that way. About yourself.” 

“You… what?”

“I know why you left the Tavern early. And I owe you an apology,” he said softly, unable to look Lefou in the eye.

“You’re just now getting it?” Lefou furrowed his brows, followed by a laugh, breathy and insincere.

“No,” Gaston smirked. “I had a feeling that that’s what’s been bothering you, but I had to poke around a little just to make sure.”

“With your _teeth?_ ” Lefou barked, rubbing his stomach. Gaston shrugged. He was vexed at the time, and got caught up in the moment. 

“Hey, I kissed it all better, didn’t I?” Gaston joked. Lefou shook his head at how childish it sounded. How ridiculous all of this was. But he wanted to say yes. 

The room fell voiceless for a few moments; Lefou still recovering from the shock that was Gaston’s affection, and Gaston abashedly trying to think of what to say to him. Finally, words broke the sound of cracking flames.

“Lefou,” he began, carefully. “No matter what you may think of yourself, you are not unattractive.” 

“Thanks.” Lefou gave a false smile. “But really, who are we kidding?” he mumbled, “I’m not exactly what you’d call _enticing._ ” 

“Why not?” Gaston blurted, in all seriousness. Lefou was taken aback by the question. A man so enwrapped in keeping up with his appearance couldn’t possibly disagree with him. 

“Ah-urm,” Lefou cleared his throat, but stopped himself from gesturing to his stomach, since Gaston had just displayed his opposing opinion to it, quite... intimately. Gaston looked at him with saddened and concerned eyes.

“What’s all this about, Lefou? You’ve never thought twice about the way you look. Why have you gotten so down on yourself all of a sudden?” Lefou shyly fumbled with his hands in his lap.

“While you were busy fighting with Tom… I overheard a conversation between the girls,” he sighed. “I seemed to be the topic of interest.” Gaston lowered his eyebrows, listening carefully. “They mentioned that I wasn’t… attractive. Like you.” He grabbed at his flab. “I’m not tall, I don’t have a jawline, or pronounced biceps, and I most certainly don’t have abs. I’m short and I’m fat. And on top of that, I could never come close to beating you or the others in a fight. I can’t hunt. I can’t read. I’m not manly, I’m… useless.” Lefou’s self deprecation caused Gaston more pain than he could’ve known. 

“No. Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Lefou continued. “They said that you only keep me around to help make you look good. And I believed them.” Gaston’s expression was stone cold. He had been struck with painful realization, and it plagued him. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a good enough friend to let you know from the beginning that it wasn’t true,” Gaston said, so softly that Lefou could barely hear. “None of those things truly matter, anyway. Your looks, your fighting and hunting skills… They mean nothing. It all comes down to who you are.”

“Really? Because you’ve got a solid reputation. All of the women flock over you. Not a single one would ever try to come near me.”

“Who cares what those women think? If I’m not mistaken, you wouldn’t want _them_ flocking over you.”

Lefou froze, unable to dispute him. Gaston gazed into the distance, making a decision, seeming to be at war with himself.

“I want you to know that your body and your reputation are nothing to be ashamed of,” Gaston finally spoke, his voice smooth and quiet. Lefou lifted his head to stare at him. Who was this man sitting beside him, and what had he done with Gaston?

“Why?”

“Because. Attractiveness… it comes in all shapes and sizes. And it’s ok to be on the heavier side,” Gaston cleared his throat, “because you are still––” But Lefou stopped him.

“No, why did you want me to know that?”

“Well,” Gaston said, reluctantly, “ I hate seeing you this way. I want you to like yourself. And... you’re important to me.”

Lefou was riveted. He had had enough surprises for one night. Gaston was opening up for the first time since Lefou could remember. But now, he suspected that Gaston had something on his chest that Lefou had been wishing for for years. He took a deep breath, ready to take the plunge for him.

“Gaston, if you have _feelings_ for me, why didn’t you just go ahead and say it? Do you have _any idea how long I’ve_ ––”

_“Because if I did, I wouldn’t be a **man** , ok?”_

Lefou shut his mouth.

“People like me, they’re supposed to like women. They’re supposed to like shooting things, arm wrestling, and spitting on the ground––”

“Don’t you?”

“I like you, Lefou. Mainly because you don’t like those things.” Gaston couldn’t look him in the eye. 

“What?”

“I admire you for your bravery. Your freedom. You usually care so little about what others think of you,” he said, his voice softer than he intended for it to sound.

“That’s not true,” Lefou replied, the hurtful comments from earlier that day still plastered in his mind.

“Never enough to change who you are because of it.”

“Gaston, what are you saying?” Lefou asked. Nothing seemed clear anymore. Gaston stared into the fireplace, preparing for a confession he knew he would have to make eventually.

“The war changed the both of us,” he began. Lefou’s anger suddenly turned to concern. “Before I left for battle, I promised myself that I wouldn’t run from it. I had already spent too much of my life not fighting back.” 

“You were seventeen, what else was there to fight for?” Lefou asked. Gaston hung his head. There were still a few things that Lefou didn’t know about him.

“My mother and I… we didn’t have the most healthy relationship. She was very hard on me. She made me feel worthless and afraid. When the opportunity came, I decided that for once in my life I would stand up for myself. I needed to make a change. To become someone who would be listened to. Someone who would be respected.” Lefou was saddened by this. Gaston could see it in his eyes as he rested a comforting hand on Gaston’s knee. “My mother never once disrespected my father. He was just about as tough as it gets. A figure of fortitude. He drank, he brought his kill home for dinner, he fought anyone who dared challenge him or his family on the spot. He had something I wished for. He had power. He had confidence. At war, you can’t sit and take beating after beating. You can’t be stepped on or run over. I had to be strong, and take offense like him. Luckily, no one knew me at war. I could be whoever I wanted to be. So I built up this image of strength and masculinity for myself. People started treating me differently. And for the first time, I actually liked being me.” Gaston paused, his gaze still fixated on the fire. Lefou felt the need to say something, but he couldn’t think of a single word.

“The war ended, and I didn’t want to let that good feeling go. I continued to put on an act until I hardly had to act anymore. Winning fights felt empowering, so I went looking for them. I was good with a gun, so I took down beasts that were helpless against me.” Gaston’s somber lips curled into a smirk as his hands turned into fists. “I just can’t get enough of the feeling it gives me. Victory. A feeling I never knew until the war. It’s a win-win, really, because on top of that euphoric feeling, I receive praise from the village. And I do feel proud. I’m everything now that I idolized as a boy. I guess you could say... I fell in love with the man I’ve become.” Gaston glanced at the mirror, but the reflection bore nothing since he was too low to the ground. “But at the end of the day, when I’m alone with my thoughts, and the compliments along with the booze wear off... there’s a little voice in the back of my mind that tells me I’m the biggest coward there is. And that’s you, Lefou.”

“Me?” Lefou leaned closer, Gaston’s soliloquy surprising him at every turn. Gaston rested his hands on Lefou’s shoulders. The reflection of flames burned in his eyes like jealousy and desire.

“Every time I look at you, I’m drawn to you. I’m attracted to your presence, your body, your personality. And every day it drives me insane.”

“Huh?” Lefou’s cheeks turned bright red. Never in his lifetime had he expected to hear those words. 

“Because I’m not supposed to be attracted to you. At least, not the man everyone thinks I am. Once I caught feelings for you, I immediately pushed them down.”

“Because your heart is set on marrying Belle?”

“Lefou, she’s the only girl in the village who doesn’t want me. Piece it together.” It all began to make sense. Gaston went to great lengths to keep up with his plan. He would chase after Belle to prove he liked women, as long as he never won her over, because he didn’t truly love her. Lefou shook his head.

“Why did you do this? Why couldn’t you have just admitted to us, to me, that you felt––”

“I was terrified... of not being accepted. And every day, that fear is what reminds me that I’m not being true to myself.” Lefou’s jaw had dropped. It was certainly a lot to take in.

“Lefou, you are the one thing that keeps me from staying high on glory that doesn’t really exist. Everything I do is based on what others will think of me. And why should their opinions matter? They’re all superficials. They don’t know me for who I really am. The only opinion that should matter to me is yours. And I hate that it’s not.”

“Gosh, Gaston… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I know I’m a coward. I’m afraid to be myself. Then again, I’m not sure that I know who ‘myself’ really is anymore. All this time I thought I would never give in again…” Exhausted by his thoughts, Gaston dug his hands through his hair and swallowed hard. “But I did end up giving in. I gave in to societal pressure. I let my actions be determined by the approval of others. When I really think about it… I have _nothing_ to be proud of.” Gaston then twisted tufts of fur from the rug with his fingers, finally coming to terms with his many faults. He looked up at Lefou, who was sitting across from him, lending him his full attention and compassion without saying a single word. _“And then there’s you,”_ he said with a broken smile, his index finger extended.

“What about me?”

“You break the mold. A charismatic man who struts around in pink bows, with a voice as loud as a lion and a heart that’s just as big. A man who speaks his mind and is not afraid to call another out on their bullshit, even though he’s more physically inept. A man who carries his weight with confidence, who lifts others’ spirits, a man that has never been anything but true to himself - who would never think twice about his image until today. Lefou, you’re like no one I’ve ever seen. You’re bold to be the way you are under the pressure of a judgemental village like this. You don’t need fighting skills and a six pack to be a man. You don’t need power. You need courage. You’re more of a man than I’ll ever be.” 

“ _Am I_ now?” Lefou said. His voice shook with the effort not to cry.

“I deeply admire you,” Gaston replied, cradling his chin with one hand. Lefou’s world shattered. He hadn’t ever imagined that he meant this much to Gaston. Lefou also never realized how dauntless and spirited he really had been. All of this time Gaston had ignored him, trampled on him, used him… he never would have dreamed that Gaston would appreciate him. He never would have dreamed that Gaston would admire him. That Gaston would love his body. Love him.

“Then kiss me,” he whispered. Gaston’s expression softened. “But up here this time,” Lefou smiled, pointing to his lips.

“No.” Gaston let go of Lefou’s face and gently backed himself up against the footrest behind him. Lefou was nervous that he had done something wrong.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I’ve already overdone it.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think we should go any further.” Gaston sighed. “It’s not like this is going anywhere. We aren’t ever going to end up with each other, Lefou.” His words drained Lefou’s spirit. “I’m never going to give _this_ up,” he motioned to himself. “My reputation. Everything I’ve worked so hard to become. So let’s save the heartbreak and never let it happen in the first place, shall we?”

Lefou’s heart already felt broken. Either way, he supposed, he would never end up with Gaston. At least now he felt a lot better knowing that Gaston reciprocated feelings for him.  


“I don’t know where the fine line is between who you’re trying to be and who you used to be, but I do know one thing,” Lefou said with a smile of disbelief, “you’re selfish no matter who you are.”

“Then you wouldn’t really want to be with me, now would you?”

“I guess not.” 

The sound of flames filled the room again. Wood snapped like heartstrings as firelight flickered in place of mixed emotions on each other’s blank faces. 

“I’m sorry,” Gaston said. Lefou nodded in response. It wasn’t something he heard from Gaston often. It even sounded desperate for forgiveness. But still he had nothing to say. 

"Would you just do me one more favor?” Gaston said, a spontaneous proposal after Lefou had already done him more favors than either of them could count. 

“What is it?”

“Don’t you ever change.”

Lefou tilted his chin upwards in astonishment.

“I don’t want you making the same mistakes I did. Don’t shape yourself according to someone else’s standards. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not just to be accepted. Don’t hide in the limelight. Don’t end up like me.” Lefou narrowed his eyes, still shocked by Gaston’s cognizance. “Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Because whenever I see you feeling bad about yourself, it worries me that you won’t want to be you anymore. And I couldn’t bare to see you go,” Gaston said, now sitting with his hands folded, resting his elbows on his bent knees. Lefou felt a twinge of guilt. Earlier he had thought about losing weight or learning how to shoot a gun.

“I confess, it’s crossed my mind,” he replied. “I’ve just always wanted to impress you.”

“Lefou, you _never fail_ to impress me.”

“Really?”

“A record time of fifteen minutes to climb onto a horse? You have to admit _that’s_ impressive,” Gaston said, holding back a smile. Lefou let out a giggle. The two began to laugh in the warmly lit room, the events of the night just too hard to comprehend. 

 

“You know what, Gaston? You do have one thing to be proud of,” said Lefou, now lying on his back, staring at the flickering ceiling as he cradled his own head in his arms. Gaston, lying beside him, cocked his chin in wonder. “Owning up to all of this. It was brave of you to share everything you’ve been feeling. I know how hard it is for you to open up. So thank you.” Although he was at fault, it made Gaston feel a little better.

“Oh you shouldn’t be thanking me. I’ve done more harm than good.”

“No. If it weren’t for you, I might still be tearing myself apart in the mirror. Loathing my image. Desperate for acceptance that, like you said, doesn’t really matter.” Lefou stopped to think for a moment. If it didn’t matter, why did Gaston care so much? He looked at the man beside him with sad, hungry eyes; empty orbs that did contain a soul, somewhere locked away, covered in maquillage. Gaston needed it to feel good about himself. He lived off of praise. Pride and victory fed his ego. Acceptance was both his comfort zone and his prison. But today was a step forward. Today, Gaston did something unacceptable. He kissed Lefou in a spot that some failed to accept about him. And taught him a lesson he would be reminded of every time he stood in front of the mirror and saw the bite mark on his belly; a mark he bore from a fight that, in actuality, he won, and always would.

“What happened here tonight will not leave this room, you understand?” Gaston said, his voice low and quiet. His eyes were red. It was the first time Lefou had ever seen Gaston cry. Lefou nodded in agreement. But what happened there would leave the room. It would follow Lefou everywhere, stuck to his body with the imprint of Gaston's incisors. It was proof that Gaston was not the man everyone thought he was. All Lefou had to do was lift his shirt. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Lefou asked, pained to see him in such a state. After everything Gaston had done, he was astonished that Lefou would continue to lend him support. 

“Will you just, help me keep my good name?” Gaston whimpered, desperate to get back to the way things were. “Play along, and that’s all I’ll ask of you ever again.”

“Yes,” Lefou said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Yes, I can do that.”

 

But things would never really be back to the way they were. Now that the both of them knew they had feelings for each other that would never be acted upon again. Now that they knew that they had both changed each other’s perception of themselves. There would always be something there that wasn't there before. But for now, Lefou would continue to lift spirits, strut around in pink bows, speak his mind, and carry his weight with confidence. Because if Gaston had taught him one thing, it was that people would perceive him as the person he saw himself as. And he saw himself the way Gaston had seen him. Bold. Courageous. A real man. The least he could do was help Gaston seem like one.

Hell, maybe he'd even write a song about it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give a special thanks to @thestanfoubrew on tumblr for listening to me ramble on about my writing crises, giving me suggestions, opinions, and advice, and just helping me through the process for three long months. Thank you, Ally. I don't know how this story would have turned out without you.
> 
> I had a lot of fun (not to mention trouble) writing this, so I hope it lived up to at least half of your expectations! Also: I am very open to comments and constructive criticism. If you want to tell me what you think of this fic, please do! It would be a big help. If you have any questions or requests you can drop them here: https://tubofskippy.tumblr.com/ask  
> And lastly, thank you for being a wonderful and supportive audience. It makes me want to write more and more.  
> -Skippy


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